Chapter One: The Day the Light Died
The rain came like a funeral hymn—soft, steady, and impossible to ignore.
Luna Hale stood beneath the rusted awning of the hospital entrance, her thin hoodie soaked through and clinging to her skin. Her hands trembled as she clutched the crumpled death certificate, the ink smudged from her tears. People passed her by without a glance, umbrellas bobbing in a world that no longer felt real.
Her father was gone.
The only person who ever called her "Moonlight" with a smile. The only one who saw her—not as a burden, not as someone to use—but as his daughter, his pride.
Gone.
"Get in the car," snapped a voice as cold as the rain.
Luna turned slowly. Her stepmother, Miranda, sat behind the wheel of her late father's silver Mercedes, the engine idling like a growl. Her two sons—Kyle and Brandon—occupied the backseat, smirking behind the tinted windows. Even at the hospital, even after this, they hadn't come inside.
Luna climbed in without a word, the weight in her chest heavier than ever.
Miranda didn't wait for the door to shut before snapping, "Don't think this changes anything. Your father left us with nothing. So you'll start working. Tomorrow."
"I haven't even—" Luna's voice cracked.
"I don't care," Miranda cut her off. "You eat under my roof, you work. No more school. No more moping. You're not special."
Kyle chuckled from the back. "Maybe she can clean toilets. That suits her."
Luna pressed her forehead to the cold window, wishing she could melt into the glass, disappear into the rain. But she couldn't cry anymore. She didn't want them to see her break.
That night, in the small attic room they'd shoved her into, Luna sat on the floor beside her bed. The house was quiet, except for muffled laughter and the clink of glasses downstairs. A celebration, perhaps—now that the man who had loved her was finally gone, and the wolves no longer had to pretend.
She reached under the bed and pulled out a worn shoebox. Inside were memories: her father's watch, the photograph of them at the lake, a crumpled note he'd once left her on her birthday—To my Moonlight: Keep shining. No matter how dark it gets.
She read it over and over, the words blurring.
But the darkness was already here.
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(continued)
The next morning came cruelly fast.
Miranda yanked open the attic door without knocking. "Up. Get dressed. You start work at eight. Here." She tossed a plain black uniform onto the bed like it was trash. "You're lucky I found you anything."
Luna sat up slowly, her body aching from the floor. "Work where?"
"The Valemont Tower," Miranda said. "Cleaning staff. You mop floors, scrub toilets, and keep your mouth shut."
"I have school," Luna murmured, her voice dry from sleep and sorrow.
Miranda's laugh was sharp. "You had school. Now you have bills. And if you think you're staying here for free, think again."
By eight-thirty, Luna was on the fifteenth floor of one of the tallest buildings in the city, pushing a cart full of cleaning supplies. Her hands were raw from scrubbing, her knees bruised. The building sparkled with wealth—glass walls, gold fixtures, cold silence. She was a ghost moving through it, invisible unless someone needed something.
She passed glass-walled conference rooms where men and women in suits sipped espresso and spoke in clipped voices. None of them saw her. That was fine. She didn't want to be seen. Not like this.
Until she reached the top floor.
The elevator doors opened with a soft chime, revealing a reception area so quiet it felt like a church. She wasn't supposed to be there. The top floor belonged to the CEO—Damian Nightborne. Everyone in the building whispered his name with a mix of fear and awe.
But Luna didn't know that. Not yet.
A sharp-voiced assistant snapped at her. "Hey! You're not supposed to clean up here."
Luna jumped, mumbling an apology as she backed toward the elevator. But before the doors could close, a tall man stepped out of the hallway, papers in hand, dark eyes locked on her for a brief, unsettling moment.
Something about him froze the air around her.
Tall. Powerfully built. Wearing a black suit like armor. His presence filled the room before he spoke a word. His eyes—cold, amber-tinged—landed on her with the faintest narrowing of interest.
Then he turned away without a word.
Damian Nightborne.
She didn't know his name. She didn't know his story. She only knew the chill that ran down her spine when he looked at her.
And he… didn't know her yet. But something stirred inside him that day. Something ancient. Something he thought he had buried long ago.
By six o'clock, Luna's arms were trembling from exhaustion. The mop felt like a lead weight. Her back ached. Her knees throbbed. Her stomach growled—she hadn't eaten since the night before. Miranda hadn't given her lunch money, just a pack of crackers and a sarcastic "Don't faint."
The janitor supervisor, a gruff man named Mr. Tarris, handed her a wrinkled envelope at the end of her shift. "Your day rate. You show up late or slack off, don't bother coming back."
Luna nodded without meeting his eyes and stuffed the envelope into her coat pocket. The pay was pitiful, but at least it was something.
The city lights were flickering on as she stepped out into the evening air. Valemont Tower loomed behind her, glass and steel piercing the clouds like a spear. She started down the sidewalk, head bowed against the wind, when a voice called out from across the street.
"Luna?!"
She froze.
Across the road stood Mira Carter—her best friend since middle school. Tall, bold, always dressed like she didn't care what anyone thought. Her braids were pulled into a high bun, and her nose ring sparkled under the streetlight. She sprinted across the street without hesitation and grabbed Luna into a hug.
"Where the hell have you been?" Mira asked, holding her at arm's length. "I've called you like fifty times. I even came to your house—your stepmother slammed the door in my face."
Luna's throat tightened. "I... I've been busy."
"Busy?" Mira's brow furrowed. "Girl, your dad died. Then you vanish? What is going on?"
Luna looked away. "I can't talk about it. Not here."
Mira lowered her voice, eyes fierce. "You look like you haven't slept in days. Is Miranda making you work?"
Luna didn't answer. She didn't have to.
"Unbelievable," Mira hissed. "That woman is evil. Come stay with me. My mom won't mind. You don't deserve this."
But Luna shook her head. "If I leave, she'll report me. Say I ran off. I could lose what little I have. And... there's my dad's house. His things. I can't leave them to her."
Mira's face softened. "Luna... you're not alone. I'm still here, okay? You've always had me."
Luna nodded, but she didn't speak. Her heart ached—grateful for Mira's warmth, terrified that even that would be taken from her.
A gust of wind swept down the street, carrying the sharp scent of the city with it. Far above them, a shadow moved behind the glass of Valemont Tower's highest floor.
Damian Nightborne stood in his office, staring down at the street.
He didn't know why.
Didn't know what drew his gaze there.
Only that something—or someone—had unsettled the calm he'd built from stone and silence.
And the moon was rising.
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